I started the day with a double yolk egg for breakfast; quick, grab the camera, I have to document this for my blog. Two … two … two eggs in one!
In olden days, finding a double-yolk egg was thought to bring good luck. But this is the 21st century. Nowadays we know it’s more likely the egg farm is just too close to a nuclear plant.
As I walked a nearby avenue, I came upon a house with a handicap ramp leading from the street to the front door. 
Life is a journey: a journey that doesn’t require an airplane, a bus, a train, or an RV; a journey you can make in a jail cell, in a monastic cell, even in a wheelchair.
Most of us don’t know where we’re going and haven’t thought much about where we’ve come from. We may be vaguely aware that as time goes by we change, or are changed. We become different people than we once were. We know that a “that was then, this is now” kind of evolution is happening to us. But how does knowing that help us?
I hear all of you out there: “Tell us, VirtualWayne, what is our life’s journey? Where are we going? What is our destination? What is our purpose in life?”
Calm down, dear readers. I, VirtualWayne, have an answer for you.
The purpose of your life’s journey is to make you a polished diamond. Right now, you’re a diamond in the rough. Some of us are very rough; you’d never guess there was a diamond inside. Some of us are fortunate to have a few shining facets. But regardless, life’s purpose is to make glittering, polished diamonds of each of us. Let me say that again: Life’s purpose is to make us perfect, transparent, multi-faceted diamonds, filled with fire and shining with brilliance. That’s what life is trying to do for us. Most of us have a long, long way to go.
Have you seen how a rock collector polishes rocks to bring out their inner beauty? He uses a rock tumbler. Plain-looking rocks are placed in it, water and abrasive grit are added, and the rocks are tumbled for days. Then the grit is replaced by finer grit and the rocks are again tumbled for days. The process repeats with progressively finer abrasive. From one day to the next, the rocks hardly change in appearance; it appears nothing much is happening. But after a month or more of tumbling against rocks and grit, the rocks are removed from the tumbler. Now they are smooth. They are polished. Their beauty is revealed. Even diamonds require an abrasive to become polished: the abrasive is diamond dust, the hardest abrasive of all.
Trials and tribulations: grit and diamond dust.
Never beat yourself up for not being perfect. If you were perfect, you wouldn’t need to be here in this rock tumbler with the rest of us. And know that your life’s journey is slowly changing you in ways that will ultimately reveal you.
When I rolled out of bed at 7:30 it was 72°, sunny, and a little breezy. I left for my morning walk through the ‘hood at 9:17 AM. Immediately my name was called out by my neighbor Butch. Butch is an old guy who lives a short way up the street. Although, as it turns out, he is actually younger than me. So he says. How can an old guy be younger than me, The Kid? He’s probably lying about his age. People are so vain. I never lie about my age. I’ll admit to anyone that I’m 39. I am 39. Trust me.
During the Civil War (sometimes referred to in the South as the “Recent Unpleasantness”), General Robert E. Lee made Violet Bank his headquarters for a time. It is said that from Violet Bank he heard the explosion that created The Crater. (For history buffs, see Battle of the Crater.)
In the front yard of this building called Violet Bank is the locally famous Cucumber Tree. The actual botanical name for this tree is Magnolia Acuminata, which is Latin meaning “Big and Gnarly”. Well okay, I don’t really know what it means, but that’s what it should mean.
The tree was planted in 1718, and despite its name, it does not have cucumbers sprouting from its limbs. (In fact, cucumbers grow on vines, not trees.) It is also called a Blue Magnolia, although once again I must point out that the tree is not now, nor has it ever been, blue. Not even a little bit blue. Not even bluish. So who’s in charge of naming these things? Probably somebody in the government.
I turned up Arlington Avenue, a short and pretty street. Soon I was 
I left and continued home. Now I’m blogging about – well, basically nothing – and yet you’re still with me, so I must be getting good at writing about nothing. If only I could monetize that skill.
A week ago a hard drive died, and my music collection was gone with the wind. Tunes, music videos, and much more are now locked forever on the magnetic platters inside that Western Digital drive. That’s one advantage CDs have. Your CD collection doesn’t disappear like dust in the wind if your CD player dies.
I’ve always been less a fan of particular artists and more a fan of music that I like, regardless of who records it, and I like a lot of different kinds of music. From Pachelbel’s Canon In D, Aaron Copland’s Appalachian Spring, and Samuel Barber’s Adagio for Strings, through Shakira’s jazzy Obtener un Sí and Israel Kamakawiwo'ole’s Somewhere Over the Rainbow, to guitarists like Jeff Beck, Eric Clapton, and Joe Satriani, to … well, what’s the point? It’s all dust in the wind now.
I had many oldies that were classics: The Eagles (so many great songs like New Kid In Town and my favorite Peaceful Easy Feeling – and I was actually driving through Winslow, Arizona, the first time I heard Take It Easy playing on the radio in my van), America (so many hits, like A Horse With No Name, Sister Golden Hair, Ventura Highway – and I’ve driven Ventura Highway between Thousand Oaks and Los Angeles), 10000 Maniacs (but Mary Ramsey only), Cracker (The Good Life), Fatboy Slim (Praise You), Ronstadt (too many great songs to list), Sia (Breathe Me), and hundreds more.
In a way, it reminds me of the time my garage was burglarized. I had so much stuff in my garage that it was impossible to figure out everything that was stolen. But sometimes I would go to the garage to get something, and it wouldn’t be there. Then I’d know. This thing was stolen. I don’t have it anymore. Likewise with my music. I don’t know all the songs and videos I don’t have anymore, but I know that now and then I’ll want to listen to a song or watch a video, and that’s when I’ll become aware that I don’t have it anymore. It’s gone with the wind.
Sigh.
I had lunch at the Bee today. It was crowded, noisy, and I was in a blah mood. I ordered the usually good house salad, but today the bacon bits were so overcooked they were like little pieces of tooth-breaking gravel. Stephanie asked if I was doing anything this weekend, but she knew the answer before she asked. After a while I left and went to Home Depot. I needed a T8 Torx screwdriver.
Home Depot is a rich source of blog material. Entering the store, I was immediately accosted by employees attempting to assist me. There were a couple of older gentlemen at the tool aisle. They looked like typical tool guys, with their orange Home Depot aprons. They asked me what I needed and I told them “a Torx driver.” Bad move, as I was already over their heads.
“You want a what?” Both men stared at me like I was a two-headed Martian who had just beamed into their store.
“A Torx driver. T-o-r-x,” I spelled it out.
“A what? A torque? You want a torque wrench?”
“No. Torx. T-O-R-X. A Torx driver.” They looked at each other and shrugged, completely mystified.
“It’s a screwdriver,” I explained, “and the driver end looks like a star. “It has six points. Like a six-pointed star. It’s called Torx. T-O-R-X. I need a T8 size.”
“I don’t think we have anything like that,” one of them said.
“Well, it’s on your website,” I said a little too loudly as I started walking down the tool aisle. I’d find the dang thing myself.
Just then a young fellow showed up and offered to help. He knew what a Torx driver was, and after a little while he located the exact tool I was looking for: a little screwdriver handle with 4 double-ended driver inserts for a total of 8 sizes. Made by Husky. Six bucks.
I showed it to one of the older tool guys and pointed to the word “Torx” on the package. I told him, “Next time somebody asks, you’ll know what they’re talking about.”
“Oh, that’s what it is,” he said. “I have some of those in my toolbox. I call ‘em star drivers.” The other tool guy agreed. Star driver.
Okay, call it a star driver. The screw head does look like a six-pointed star. But so does a Bristol screw head. So does a polydrive screw head. They all look like six-pointed stars but that doesn’t mean they are interchangeable; they’re not. Which is why you should try to use the correct name. Or at least know it.
By the way, I just checked the temperature on this second day of Fall in central Virginia. At 3:30 PM, it’s 100°; the heat index is 107°. I don’t know if the leaves will turn colors this year or if they’ll just ignite and go “poof” right off the tree. I’ll let you know.
It is the first day of Fall in central Virginia.
National Weather Service:  | Weather Underground: |
They don’t agree on the temperature. But they do agree, it’s flippin’ hot!
The autumnal equinox arrives at 11:09 PM ET tonight. An equinox happens twice a year when the sun crosses the plane of the equator. On that day, night and day have equal length. The beginning of spring is marked by the vernal equinox. Now, the sun is headed south for the winter. In the springtime, at the vernal equinox, the sun is headed north for the summer. It appears that our sun is a snowbird.
Also tonight, there is a full moon. It’s called a Harvest Moon. If your sky is clear, you might see what looks like a bright star near the Moon. It’s not a star, it’s the planet Jupiter. Jupiter is in opposition, meaning it is exactly opposite the sun as seen from Earth. Jupiter is closer to Earth now than it has been since 1963.
Tomorrow is the first full day of fall. But tomorrow’s temperature will be in the mid-90s. I took a walk through the neighborhood this evening. According to the NWS, it was 89° then and the heat index was 93°. And it felt like it.
In the hot evening, many residents were sitting on front porches or walking along the avenues. My memories of Fall, formed in high school days, was of football and cold evenings. And cigarettes. I was a regular smoker at 17. For years and years, lighting up a cigarette on a cold autumn night was a memory trigger that would take me back to high school Friday night football games – and from my house I could hear the high school football crowd cheering.
When I was a high school senior, I had the job of yearbook photographer, which got me into all the games, home and away, for free. It got me onto the sidelines where picture-taking was better. You could see me running along the sidelines during the game with a 4” x 5” Graphlex camera. Sometimes I used my 35 mm camera, but I preferred the Graphlex because it looked serious. It was the press camera of World War 2 and it looked like a press camera should look. And its powerful flash would reach much farther onto the field than the electronic flash of the 35mm. Its flash attachment held 4 or 5 D-cells to power the flashbulb. It used a film negative as big as the average snapshot of the day. Its film carrier contained two negatives. To shoot a picture I inserted the film carrier into the back of the camera and pulled the light shield out of the film carrier so the negative could be exposed. After taking a picture, I inserted the light shield into the film carrier, pulled the film carrier out of the camera and flipped it over, inserted the film carrier back into the camera, then pulled the light shield out of the film carrier to expose the new negative. Then, I was ready to shoot a picture. Complicated and time-consuming. I loved it! And one more thing: nothing on the camera was automatic. I set the shutter speed, I set the exposure time. It didn’t even have a light meter. A good photographer was just supposed to know how to set those things.
I had a darkroom in my cellar where I often developed and printed pictures. The school didn’t like me using the Graphlex due to the cost of loading the negative carriers, so I bought 4” x 5” film and took the negative carriers to my cellar and loaded the film there. It had to be done in total darkness – no safelight for this film. To this day I remember standing in utter darkness, feeling along the edge of the negative for the little cutout that would tell me the film orientation – which side had the emulsion.
My best friend, Doug, was also a yearbook photographer. Doug and I usually showed up at events together. I would try to have the Graphlex and he would have a 35 mm. I recall one amazing shot – or perhaps I should say, two amazing shots. We were at a basketball game. We were on opposite sides of the court, kneeling along the sidelines to capture a picture of a player making a layup. By happenstance, our cameras were aimed toward each other. As the player went up for the layout, we each snapped our shot. When I printed my picture I was astounded to see Doug’s flash going off in my photo. His flash was electronic; it had a duration of about one millisecond –a thousandth of a second. I couldn’t tell you now what shutter speed I used on the Graphlex, but certainly it was a tiny fraction of a second. And of course, Doug’s photo showed my flash going off. We had snapped our photos at virtually the same instant.
Lots of memories and lots of nostalgic feelings were evoked on those cold, autumn football evenings when I lit up a smoke. But those nostalgic feelings may not be coming back to me any longer. The world has changed, and I’ve changed. I no longer smoke. And the cold autumn evenings – they’ve become too hot to enjoy even a short walk around the ‘hood.
I’m listening to Thievery Corporation. Wikipedia calls their music a mix of “dub, acid jazz, reggae, Indian classical, Middle Eastern, and Brazilian (such as bossa nova) with a lounge aesthetic.” First I listened to Lebanese Blonde. The band performed that song on Austin City Limits. (I tivo’ed the show.) Then, Holographic Universe. And now, Shadows of Ourselves (also performed on Austin City Limits).
Rob Garza and Eric Hilton are Thievery Corporation, but they often perform and record with other artists. For their Austin City Limits performance, they had a horn section, guitar and bass, singers, even a sitar. Their music is varied but has a recognizable sound.
Here is a video clip of a live performance; watch Sound the Alarm. This is electronic music. This is club music. This is 1:30 AM having-fun music.
Below, listen to Shadows of Ourselves.
Loulou, 21 Apr 2004
And speaking of Austin City Limits, will they ever air another repeat of Leonard Cohen’s performance? I’m referring to his performance with Julie Christensen and Perla Batalla. I’d like to see that show again.
Are you kidding me?
I think we all know this is a ploy by geeks to get hot female models to pose topless in their lab. I’m just mad they thought of it first.
“Stand here, sweetie. That’s perfect. Hey, Leonard, where did we put the Krylon, er, I mean, the spray-on shirt?”
Got up at 7. It’s cool outside. The National Weather Service says it’s 52° F and overcast (but we have bright sunshine). The NWS has been screwed up for months. During the sweltering summer they would sometimes report the temperature as being 28°, for example. And today, with nary a cloud forecast all week, they’re … well, see for yourself:
Notice anything strange? The radar shows precip but the satellite shows no cloud cover over Virginia.
Weather radar for my part of Virginia:
Satellite photo below. See any clouds over Virginia?
Say … don’t these NWS guys also report weather conditions to airline pilots?
The local Walmart is becoming more and more worthless. It seems every time I go there, they’ve quit stocking some item I’ve bought there for years, while stocking more and more of stuff I’ll never buy. For example (glad you asked):
I make pitchers of iced tea and lemonade. I use a certain artificial sweetener that I buy in a bulk package and it comes with a little pink measuring spoon. I keep the sweetener in a sugar bowl. It’s more convenient to spoon a half-dozen tiny spoonfuls into a pitcher than to rip open 10 or more little pink envelopes and shake out their contents. Walmart sells the bulk package and they sell boxes of pink envelopes, too.
 | << Bulk package |
|
Box of tiny pink envelopes >> |  |
Now, let’s go shopping!  | << Walmart shelf |
| Wait – what’s that lone box on the left? Is it … is it … Yes! That solitary package at the left end of the shelf is the bulk sweetener. Obviously, they don’t expect to sell a lot of it, but they’ve arranged it so they can’t. (Last trip it was their pitcher-size decaf teabags they didn’t have.) |  |
That’s my gripe du jour; a poke-in-the-eye for you, Walmart. Take that, multinational giant!
Saturday night/Sunday morning
Midnight. It’s cool that I can put the stuff I write on the Internet for, theoretically, the whole world to see. Although who, really, reads this stuff? Just me.
It’s late Saturday night, early Sunday morning. Listening to Mark Knopfler (Local Hero/Wild Theme).
Listening to music at midnight and having a brandy or three. When I drink brandy, I always track how much I drink. (I have a do-not-exceed limit.) But I don’t count drinks, ‘cuz I might pour a shot one time and a plus-up next time. So mentally I track calories. Seems strange, I know. But that’s what I do.
Now playing: Full of Grace (Surfacing/Sarah McLachlan): if you were a BtVS fan, that brings back feelings.
Now it’s after midnight and I’m going to wind down with Norah Jones/Come Away With Me.
I’ve hit my brandy limit. I can’t have another.
Playing: Norah Jones/Lonestar …
I should go.
In my last post (Saturday) I said I’d post more later.
And now, it is later. As I type this, it is 9:37PM. At 7 I checked my messages and found a voicemail from Kim, one of my neighbors, and she told me Walmart had mums on sale for $4.55 and if I bought some she would plant them for me. That was a nice offer. Not sure what her angle is. Does she think my house needs spiffing up? Is she trying to increase property values? Then Sally (another neighbor) came over to join the chat. When Kim left to chase after two of her cats that had crossed the street and were fighting behind my boxwoods, I told Sally that Kim thought my house needed mums planted between the boxwoods. I asked her, “What do you think? Sounds like a lot of work to me.” And Sally said, “Um … (long pause) … yeah!” And laughed. The night air was really very pleasant, a lot of people were out walking through the neighborhood, kids riding bicycles, seniors walking their dogs, and I talked with Kim and Sally until 9:30 and my feet were hurting (sandals are not very comfortable for standing for hours) so finally I gave up and came inside … I left the gals still talking … now I’m blogging and listening to music.
I’m listening to Agnes Obel.
I’m listening to Martina Topley Bird.
And Sia. And Shakira. And Kylie Minogue.
A few days ago, a hard drive failed without warning. It just suddenly decided it was dead. I had a lot of music on that drive. I had other stuff, too: videos, images, documents, all kinds of stuff. But it’s the music that I miss.
Got up at ten this AM (I hate getting up so late!) because I took a sleep-aid pill last night and it wears off so slowly. I sat at the computer and IM’ed with CyberDave for a while, then cuz’n Ron phoned me and I talked with him for a while, and only now I got around to fixing lunch. Being a single-type person, I fixed a 
I had trouble sleeping last night. I think I got to sleep around 6 AM and slept until 10 AM. No breakfast today. But I had lunch at Applebee’s Bar & Grill. The restaurant was 
After lunch I went to Walmart and bought some items including a 12 ounce bag of broccoli slaw (broccoli, carrots, red cabbage, shredded).
I came home, blogged a little, watched an hour of The Closer, and went to Martin’s for a few more things including fresh salmon.
I had a lazy man’s dinner tonight: Begin with 12 ounces of broccoli slaw and add 5 ounces of ranch dressing. Mix well. You should have enough for about 8 servings.
Preheat the oven to 425°. Cover a flat pan with aluminum foil. Bake the salmon for 13 to 16 minutes until it is fully cooked. Garnish with lemon juice or tartar sauce. A quick, easy meal that’s healthy, too.
Sidebar:
I was looking for an item in the store’s vitamin department and couldn’t find it; I happened to be looking at rows of melatonin and thinking, “Holy cow, look at all the different brands of melatonin they have and they can’t stock what I need!”, when from behind me a woman’s voice says, “Come over here, we’ll get some melatonin”, then a man’s voice says, “They don’t have melatonin here, we’ll have to go to Walgreens”, and then the woman says, “Ok, we’ll go to Walgreens” and they walk away. And I walked away, too.
I used leftovers for dinner tonight, and dinner turned out to be surprisingly tasty. Very tasty! I’ll list the amount of each ingredient but it’s the kind of recipe that doesn’t need strict attention to proportions. Use what you’ve got.
Put the veggies into a bowl and heat 20 ~ 30 seconds in the microwave – 40 ~ 60 seconds if the ingredients came from the fridge.
Heat a wok and add:
When the liquid begins to sizzle, add the veggies and pork. Stir as it fries. Add salt, pepper, and sprinkle on red pepper flakes. (I like food that is hot and spicy - you may prefer to omit the red pepper flakes.)
Stir-fry until veggies are done. Eat. Enjoy.
Servings: 2
Calories per serving: 260
My Suzy Bogguss post of yesterday motivated me to find some Linda Ronstadt material. Ronstadt is high on my list of favorite female American singers. Is Ronstadt the most talented female American singer of our time? Possibly. Is she one of the best? No question. She has 11 Grammy Awards, 2 Academy of Country Music Awards, an Emmy Award, an ALMA Award, an ACM Music Award, numerous gold, platinum and multiplatinum albums, as well as Tony Award and Golden Globe nominations. She has charted 36 albums, 10 Top 10 albums, and 3 No. 1 albums on the Billboard Pop Album Charts. Linda can hold her own with any singer. She has a great voice and can put a lot of power into it.
Also-ran favorites:
All of these songs are found on Linda’s Living in the USA album.
Livin’ in the USA : this live performance with Chuck Berry sounds very much like track #1 on the album.
Alison : one of many great songs written by Elvis Costello.
Mohammed’s Radio : one by the late, great Warren Zevon.
White Rhythm & Blues : a beautiful ballad by J. D. Souther.
It has now been 1,202 consecutive days without a blimp flying directly above my house. What are the odds?!
A random blimp buzzes my house.
Pull up a chair and I’ll tell you a story about me and the Blimp. Well, not the blimp. A blimp.
Back in my college days, eons ago, one summer found me working in Bladensburg, Maryland. I was working for a company called Fairchild-Hiller, trying to earn money for my college expenses. Monday night through Thursday night I stayed in a room at a frat house on the University of Maryland campus in College Park. There were about a dozen frat houses arranged along a U-shaped road (I bet it had a really unique name, too, like “Fraternity Row” – but that’s a pure guess). I paid $8 a week for a small room without electricity or hot water (‘cuz it was summer, remember?).
Anyhow, there was a huge open field behind the frat house and every evening as the sun went down a blimp would appear. It would land at the field, take on passengers, and then take off to tour the Washington, D.C. area. I can still recall looking up as the blimp soared low above the frat house on its takeoff and being astonished at seeing words and crude images flowing across the bottom of the blimp. (When the blimp is 100 feet above you, it’s impressive; quadruple that when animated electric light messages cover its bottom half against a dark sky.) That the blimp can display messages is common knowledge now, but this was back in the day, shortly after the discovery of fire and the invention of television. Back then, who knew? Only a few people. And me.
A large white envelope arrived by USPS today. It was from my friend CyberDave in Roanoke-town. “What wondrous item has CyberDave sent me?”, I wondered. Multiple thoughts flashed through my mind, rapid fire. A free update to Windows 7? A free copy of Visual Basic 2010, no doubt obtained through his computer club? I fondled the package; it felt like a book. Hmmm … a book? Is it the autographed John Holland robotics book I loaned CyberDave years ago and now his wife, in a fit of extreme housecleaning, has ordered him to return? “Get this out of the house,” I imagined her saying. “Books are clutter.” Or perhaps he has sent me a genuine, personally autographed copy of his first book, which I imagine would somehow combine elements of programming, computer-aided design, and beer.
I ripped open the envelope and eagerly withdrew the contents. It wasn’t a book after all, but a book-shaped box holding a DVD. It was a video instruction DVD from LiveLessons titled Data Access in the ASP.NET 2.0 Framework.
Huh? Data Access, that sounds like database stuff. ASP is Active Server Page technology. ASP.NET implies that the ASP technology is designed to run on the .Net Framework. I’m not sure I am smart enough to understand all this stuff. People are always overestimating my intelligence. I’m really not that smart. I’ve just learned how to be good at faking it.
Well, thanks very much, CyberDave. I will definitely watch as much as I can, barring a brain meltdown. This may turn out to be the very thing I need to make my website take off and turn me into a software-mogul/celebrity-billionaire. And if that happens, I won’t forget you. No, indeed. In fact, to show my appreciation I declare publicly, right here and now, that I will return this DVD to you anytime you want it. Just call my secretary and tell her, and she will have your message waiting for me the very next time I get back from the Bahamas. After all, it’s the least I can do. And never let it be said I didn’t do the least I could do.
Steve the window guy was here today. He was here 4 weeks ago to measure my upstairs dormer windows for replacement windows. The old dual-pane windows had gotten so fogged up internally that they had become opaque. I am a firm believer that windows should be transparent, so I made arrangements to replace them. Steve measured them (and wow, was he fast – zip with that tape measure, got it –zip, got it –zip, got it) and took off. A week later I called him. “Did you order the windows yet?” “I ordered them this morning.” Replacement windows must be custom made. The two front windows measured 32 inches wide, but the rear bathroom window measured 32-1/2. So he showed up today with the windows. The front windows went in very quickly (Steve: “Tell me I can’t measure a window!”), but when he got to the back window, the window that measured 32-1/2 wide 4 weeks ago -- well, it measured 32 inches wide today. Oops. Steve pointed out the back window didn’t have trim inside the frame, and he had taken the measurement assuming it did. He looked at me and said “Who would have thought somebody would install a window and leave it without any trim?!” He looked suspiciously at me as he said it, implying that it wasn’t his fault and that, quite possibly, it was my fault. Somehow. I shrugged. What do I know about windows? Not much, but I do know you can’t return a custom-made window for a refund. Even though he had asked me to tell him, I resisted the temptation to say “You can’t measure a window.” I felt bad he had to eat that window, but we younger geezers know how the Universe works … just brag on what a great job you’ve done before the job is completely finished and Bam! you’ll get a giant smackdown from the Universe. Every time.
If all goes according to plan, Steve should return in a few weeks to replace that last window and wrap the frames.
Oh yeah, one more thing; according to Steve, “Obama is going to destroy the country.” How so, Steve? Steve started listing things “the guy on the radio” told him. Stop right there, let’s take the first thing you said. “Obama is going to get rid of the Republicans.” Get rid of the Republicans? “Yeah.” You’re kidding, Steve. The Republican Party is set to win big in the mid-term elections. How is Obama going to get rid of them? “You’ll see,” he said.
So goodbye GOP. Remember, you heard it here first. Unless you, too, listen to the guy on the radio.
It’s been a long, hot summer. Long. Hot. Summer. Did I mention hot?
Before modern air conditioning was invented (by Willis Haviland Carrier in 1902), European nations considered Washington, D.C., to be a hardship post for their ambassadors. Summer in Washington was hot and humid. One hundred twenty miles to the south lies my small central Virginia town. Summers here are usually hotter than summers in Washington. In fact, summer temperatures here are often hotter than central Florida temperatures. Florida is helped by air off the ocean while Virginia bakes under air that has crossed thousands of miles of hot interior.
 | Heat index = 115°. Sometimes it’s hotter. |
 |
Sarcasm from Aliens: |
It doesn’t seem to matter how far north or south the location might be. One of the hottest places I’ve visited was Helena, Montana, in August. (Though Glacier National Park – same month, same state – was comfortable. So there’s an upside to having a glacier nearby!)
But on this September day there was a touch of fall in the air. The day was sunny, breezy, and 72° at noon. I went to Applebee’s Bar and Grill for lunch today. Instead of wearing shorts, I put on jeans for the first time since this summer began.
I got to the restaurant early and there were no customers at the bar. Behind the bar, a waitress cut up lemons and pineapple for cocktails while the Friday bartender, Stephanie, pored over some papers – a work schedule, perhaps. I ordered a light beer and a house salad. The house salad is one of the healthiest items on their menu. In my humble opinion.
After a while another customer - a young black man - sat at the bar. Over his black T-shirt he wore a heavy gold chain with a large and flashy gold cross suspended from it. (Judging from the size of his cross, he must have been a very devout young man. Very devout.) As he sat down, he pulled out an iPhone and placed it on the bar. Soon a woman joined him (probably for prayer). They were the only other customers at the bar while I was there.
Oh, remember in my last blog entry the gal who said she was bitten by a jellyfish - which caused me to question, “Since when do jellyfish have teeth?” She was here today, waiting tables. In fact, here is the actual photo of the jellyfish taken seconds before it attacked and bit her. Jellyfish experts I have spoken with say these attacks are rare. She is expected to make a complete recovery.
A photo of the rare toothed Jellyfishicus Dentalarius.
It’s been an average day. Average, average, average. I went to Walmart this morning and bought grub – including a pack of 6 hard-boiled eggs. I came home and put away the grub. I made deviled eggs from the hard-boiled eggs. I ate one of them. It was my breakfast.
I went to the ABC and bought a liter of brandy. I went to Martin’s and bought more grub. I came home and ate another deviled egg. I made broccoli slaw with ranch dressing.
I did a whole bunch of other totally average things. At about 5PM I ate dinner. 
At 7PM I call my cousin Ron. He’s the only relative I have left who still speaks to me. Am I that hard to get along with? Must be. At 7:10 I decide to take my evening walk. The air is about 85 degrees, and after the high 90s to low 100s we’ve had all summer the air feels good. On Lynchburg Avenue I pass two men talking across a chain link fence; the man on the sidewalk side of the fence has with him a Siberian Husky. I stop to talk to the men about the dog. The 6-month-old Husky is friendly and jumps on me to try to lick my face. I continue on my way past the middle school; the middle-schoolers are playing football behind the school this evening. Their impromptu athletic field is well below the roads around it, and as I pass by I look down on the field. Parents line the edge of the field, sitting in folding chairs watching their kids get exercise. I pass by parents sitting in parked cars and pickups watching events on the field below.
I go east for a couple of blocks then turn south. An elderly man sits in a rocking chair on a porch. “It’s a great day for sitting on the porch”, I say to him. “A lot better than a month ago”, he replies, smiling. I continue south on Cameron. As I cross Jackson Avenue, I see a man in a van having an argument with a woman standing beside the driver’s door. I don’t know what the argument is about; they argue in Spanish. Despite studying Spanish for two years in high school, I remember only enough now to say “no hablo Español”.
I turn onto Virginia Avenue and walk a short block to Violet Bank Museum. 
I turn onto Arlington Avenue. It’s a short and pretty block. The street is divided into two lanes by a center median of grass and trees. A half minute later I arrive at the Boulevard. If I turn south I will begin a long downhill walk to the Appomatox River and a bridge across it that connects to Petersburg just a couple blocks from Old Towne.
Instead I turn north. About two blocks later I walk by the World War 2 Memorial Park. It’s kept in beautiful condition. A block further on, and the Boulevard bends and blends into an assemblage of auto shops, used car lots, tattoo parlours, hair stylists, gas stations, drugstores – a gritty smorgasbord of American roadside mediocrity. A young black woman jogs toward me with iPod earbuds plugged into her head. I figure she’s listening to music as she jogs, but as she passes I hear her utter a phrase in some foreign language, so I surmise she’s learning a new language as she jogs. Exercise for the body and the brain? Most likely, she’s a soldier stationed at nearby Fort Lee, preparing herself to go overseas.
I head for a drugstore entrance. I see a gal who waits tables at the local Applebee’s Bar and Grill. She’s talking to someone in a car, and though she sees me she gives no hint of recognizing me. Nor do I hint at recognizing her. Some kind of unwritten social convention seems to be at work, making each of us invisible. As I approach her I can tell she’s talking about a recent trip to Myrtle Beach. As I pass her and enter the store, I hear her say she was “bitten by a jellyfish”. I knew jellyfish can sting, but are they biting now? They have teeth now? Ouch.
I spend two minutes inside the store, basking in the air conditioning. Then - back outside. It’s getting dusky. Soon I’m back on Lynchburg Avenue and headed toward Lafayette. Ahead of me I see my neighbor Carey walking her two dogs (I have a blog entry about her dogs). She’s at the corner of Lafayette and Lynchburg. I wave and call her name. I hear her say something, but can’t tell what. I’ve lived two houses from her for seven years, and I’ve spoken with her in her front yard or over her backyard fence many times, and yet she’s never asked my name or given any indication she knows it. Of course, she’s only 37; I barely exist to people born after 1970. They consider me a part of the fossil record. “Say, shouldn’t you be in a museum?”
Give me time. I’ll be there soon enough.
